Today’s date is 10-7-164.

  That is, it’s the tenth day (or Tensday) of the seventh week of the year 164. The people here observe a ten-day “week”—I’m only using the word “week” so as to avoid having to invent a new one. There are ten of these weeks in one “year” here; I’m not certain if there is a larger unit of time into which some number of years figure, or if something happened 164 years ago to cause the counting of years to reset.

  My last entry was written two days ago, on 8-7-164.

  I lost you twelve days ago, on 8-6-164.

  I will see you again on…

  I’m sorry. When you’re back in the mortal plane, you will want to learn everything I’ve discovered. You gave your life for this expedition, after all, and you don’t deserve to suffer through my self-pity. Now, to continue…

  It’s hard to say with any certainty, but the days feel like they’re about the same length both here and in Guntao, which means that the years here are less than a third the length of our years.

  In addition to gaining a rudimentary understanding of timekeeping, I’ve also had an opportunity to examine a map. Unlike our homeland, the ocean here is dominated by two major islands with a scattering of minor islands on the periphery. The one I’m currently on is called Valhold, which is a shortening of Valia’s Hold in their language—the same Valia who will help me recover your body. Assuming the map is to scale, I would estimate that Valhold rivals the largest of the islands in Guntao.

  The second island, Panzea, is so large it defies explanation. I’m not sure that the word “island” does it justice; there seems to be another word for it, “continent,” and I believe you could fit every island in Guntao within the footprint of this continent. A mountain range cuts the continent roughly in half, and, as I understand it, most of the people in this realm live on what I’m calling the western side. I’m also led to believe that Valia’s Watch isn’t even the largest of the cities; if this is true, then there may be as many as three Panzeans for every person living in Guntao.

  (Do you see the wisdom in my decision to keep Guntao a secret from these people? Think of the army they could raise if they were to invade!)

  Apparently, this continent is the birthplace of civilization in this realm, and so Panzea is the name of both that particular landmass and this world as a whole.

  In a previous entry, I mentioned that Panzea has only one sun. According to the map, the sun floats above the mountains that divide Panzea, a little north of the landmass’ center. As you have probably surmised by now, it seems to rotate at about the same speed as our little-sister sun. I’ve watched the waning sun as the day turns to night, and the sight of a single crescent of light shrinking into nothingness struck me as uniquely beautiful—I think the fact that it is the only celestial body in the sky makes it somehow more striking.

  I’ll try to find time to share more of my discoveries soon, but I hear a knocking on my door. Today, Olrick is taking me to something called “church.”

  ***

  Church is a building that sits at the foot of the rise, on the border between the estates and the more humble neighborhoods below. It is about two stories tall, and the main chamber is a cavernous room that takes up that full height. Near the far end of this chamber is a stage; I had trouble understanding most of what Olrick told me on the way here, his words coming out in a tumble of breathless excitement, but it seems that this stage hosts all manners of entertainment every Tensday.

  The rest of the chamber’s floor is given to rows of long benches. When we arrived this morning, most of them were already full.

  I describe this to give you a sense of the space, but its spaciousness was hardly the first thing I saw when I entered the room. Along the walls, from the floor reaching nearly to the ceiling, were the images of eight men and women. They had a faint glow to them, as if they were somehow a source of illumination in and of themselves, and to my astonishment they moved. Throughout the performance, they stood, seemingly painted onto the wall, holding poses that must have had some significance (one of them had her hands clasped before her chest; another held his hands at shoulder level, fingers splayed so that they pointed up to the sky in an arc). They watched the audience below with what might best be described as parental affection.

  I actually made eye contact with one of them—a towering woman in draping robes of platinum, her skin and hair not unlike Nadine’s—and I swear her lips turned up ever so slightly in a gentle smile. The expression was meant to be a comforting one, but seeing it on that face, which seemed monstrous to me in both size and aspect, sent my heart racing.

  Olrick led me to a seat a few rows from the entrance, enthusiastically exchanging greetings with everyone we passed. I forced myself to focus on the crowd around me, avoiding the stare of the projected giants above. Curious looks and startled whispers issued from the throngs of people who had gathered there. Their attention must have bothered Nadine nearly as much as it disturbed me, as she shielded her face with her hand so as not to be recognized.

  Before we left this morning, she’d had words with Olrick, and it seemed she only joined us on this outing with a great deal of reluctance. It may just be that she feels embarrassed by me and my ignorance of Panzean customs, but I was left with the distinct impression that she would rather not go even if I weren’t here to complicate things.

  After many long minutes of greetings—too many for my language spell to follow—the show began. A woman with orange, curly hair, dressed in purple robes, stood upon the stage and raised her hand. An image of her, similar in quality to the other eight figures though half the size, appeared on the wall behind her.

  (Terribly impressive, yes, but I had been so overawed that I was starting to grow numb. Her appearance did draw everyone’s attention away from me, which was no small mercy.)

  “Welcome, [???] and [???], to this [???] house of the [???],” she began. She continued to speak for some time, but the finer points were rather lost on me. It seemed that she offered words of advice and encouragement, after which I believe she told a story.

  Since it was quite impossible for me to understand, I allowed my spell to passively skim her speech for new words while I considered the eight people projected onto the walls. Each one looked distinctive—eight individuals with no two eye shapes or hair colors or skin tones in common. Here I saw one figure with hair the same color as Olrick’s and another figure with his hair’s texture, a third with his eye shape and a fourth with his nose. Could these be likenesses of the first Panzeans? Perhaps it’s a bit of a leap, but it stands to reason that the humans of this world sprang from a small group of ancestors, just like in Guntao.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Everyone around me stood as these thoughts came to mind. I hastily followed suit, and Olrick gave me an understanding smile.

  If my guess is correct, then I’m led to a few intriguing hypotheses.

  First, Panzea had eight ancestors to Guntao’s three. I had assumed our apparent difference in population was a result of time or resources or land, but it could simply be that they started out with more people at the start of their civilization. I’m not sure if this can account for the large gap here, however.

  Second, if human life in Panzea began similarly to Guntao, it may speak to some natural law. Will humans always spontaneously appear in any environment that lacks them? If that were the case, you’d expect new genealogies of humans to sprout up anywhere that hasn’t been settled—but we certainly haven’t observed this in our own world. Still, the fact that I’ve now visited two realms, both inhabited by people, speaks to there being some underlying mechanism.

  Third—and I should have realized this earlier—we inherit magic from our ancestors. There may not be any reason a first human would have magic to begin with. If this was the case for the Panzeans, it would explain why I have yet to see any signs of magic in this realm. While the Panzeans are seemingly devoid of any power within the mental or spiritual spheres, perhaps they instead inherited some knack for technology or whatever it is that allows them to master the physical world so completely.

  As I contemplated these implications, my attention drifted to one of the ancestors at the periphery of the display. I hadn’t noticed him at first, but he was singularly unique. A low-bridged nose and familiar eyes—eyelids that weren’t so open and rounded as to give him a constant look of surprise. He would never be mistaken for one of us, with his umber skin and dark red hair, but he looked almost like a person from halfway between Guntao and Panzea. The image looked down at me, eyebrows raised in an expression of cool superiority.

  Fingers closed around my arm and I nearly jumped. Everyone around me had taken their seats again, leaving me the sole person standing. Nadine looked up at me, her hand on my forearm, and nodded towards a side door.

  We were soon in the small lobby at the front of the building. “I [thought?] it might be too [many???] for you,” she said softly, a conspiratorial smile on her face. This might have been the first time she smiled at me, come to think of it. Was she concerned for me, or was my earlier hunch correct—she was simply happy for an excuse to leave the performance early?

  “Come. This [is] better.”

  I followed her down a hall and into a spacious side room. The walls glowed with gentle rainbow colors, and a crowd of children huddled about the middle of the floor.

  I gave Nadine a questioning look, but she didn’t meet my eyes. Was this a daycare of some sort? I worried that my ignorance must have made me seem a simpleton to them, and that she might have intended to deposit me with the children.

  Before I could ask, she put a finger to her lips and shushed me, then leaned against one of the desks against the wall. A man stood at the center of the children, speaking animatedly to what I presumed were his students, and he spared a glance at us.

  His skin was two-toned, a deep amber peeking out from under splashes of dark freckles. These tones combined to give his face an almost golden sheen. He had the round, sunken eyes and large nose I’ve come to expect from the people of this realm, though, unlike Olrick, his nose was thin and slightly hooked. There was such a sharpness, such a focused intensity to his gaze that he looked rather like a bird of prey sizing up its next meal.

  His eyes swept over us in an instant, and then his attention returned to his young audience. He spoke to them for a few minutes more, then dismissed them to work on their own projects before approaching us.

  “Nadine [indecipherable],” he said, his voice somehow both high and raspy. “[???] visit [indecipherable] [indecipherable] [???] husband, [???] church [???].”

  She sighed in response, shaking her head at him. She said something about Olrick and a guest, then pointed at me. “[Indecipherable] [indecipherable] [and so on] Why Shollin.”

  Nadine has shown no great fondness for me, but I must acknowledge her for pronouncing my name correctly. Olrick hasn’t even managed that yet.

  With a sharp turn, the man swept his gaze over me once more, half-closed eyes expressing supreme disinterest. He uttered a string of words unlike any I’d encountered thus far.

  “Excuse me?” I said, leaning forward to better hear. “I’m not understand.”

  He shot Nadine a perplexed frown, fluttering a limp hand in my direction as though to say, “What is this creature you have brought before me?” What he actually said was, “My name. Jacque Soldin Xavier Amalies Ordine. [???], I [believe?].”

  With a nervous swallow, I offered him a bow. “Good please.”

  He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then returned to his conversation with Nadine. It was as though I didn’t exist. Perhaps it was better that way—he had the sort of gaze that picks at you, seeking out your weaknesses and boring through them.

  Since the only adults in the room were engaged in a conversation that I was unable to follow, I decided to give them some privacy. The children had sheets of shiny paper out and were busily writing. At least, they were pretending to—I noticed some passing notes amongst themselves, and there were perhaps more doodles than actual essays. They were just as well dressed as their parents in their shimmery little overcoats and tunics, with some in trousers and some in skirts. Most of them, I couldn’t help but notice, also wore necklaces similar to Nadine’s and Olrick’s. Perhaps it’s some sort of symbol of rank or standing in society? Is church a place for the ladies and lordlings of Valia’s Watch? I’d expect it to have a higher place up the slope were that the case.

  I drifted towards a trio of girls who were arguing in hushed voices, hunched over their desks so as to not attract their teacher’s attention.

  “Give it back!” one of the girls whispered, her voice strained.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the second girl said, holding up a stylus in her palm. “Do you need this? Here…” She held it out as if to return it, but then she flicked it into the air with astonishing coordination. The stylus arced neatly over the first girl’s head and into the waiting hand of the third.

  “How [clumsy?]!” the third girl whispered in a chiding tone.

  I cleared my throat, and all three looked up at me. “Give it back,” I said sternly. The stylus was swiftly returned to its owner, but the second girl—the apparent instigator—gaped up at me.

  “Why do you look like that?” she asked.

  I suppose children are the same in any realm.

  Before I could reply, I felt a light tapping on my shoulder. Jacque stood behind me, eyebrows raised high. He was clearly unimpressed.

  “Do not [interfere/interrupt?] my students,” he said evenly.

  “I have good news, Why,” Nadine added. “Jacque [agreed to be] your teacher.”

  ***

  Perhaps I should have been pleased by the new arrangement. However, Jacque certainly didn’t seem eager to work with me. I suppose it’s possible “disdain” is his default expression. And while I feel that Nadine has a naturally curious mind that I might admire in different circumstances, she’s generally treated me with distrust since I’ve come to stay in her home. I can’t help but wonder if she has some ulterior motive in bringing Jacque on to “educate” me.

  I also will freely admit that it’s infantilizing to take lessons from a schoolteacher, especially when that schoolteacher appears to be around my age.

  Jacque informed me that he would visit two days a week and that he would be holding me to the highest standards. It took several tries to communicate even that much and, exasperated, he dismissed Nadine and me from his classroom.

  On the ride back to the estate, Olrick seemed overjoyed that I would get proper tutoring. I smiled and nodded as he gushed on and on, but I was troubled by weightier thoughts.

  I think I may be able to simply tear the knowledge I need from their minds. In Guntao, where over a third of the population has access to Truthbinding, it’s only natural that mental defenses are part of our basic education; the people here have no such defenses, so far as I can discern.

  Not that I would ever consider doing such a thing! The mere suggestion would be a scandal from which I would never recover. And it would be quite immoral, even if it was in the service of being reunited with you, my love.

  But I must admit it would make things so much simpler if I allowed myself to peruse the knowledge Nadine has of her language and society, or if I allowed myself to slip the right facts into Olrick’s mind that would bring me to House Valia more quickly.

  Oh, but what does it matter? I won’t bring myself to break such taboos, even if there is no one here to judge me for it.